Wake Up, Wendy
by A. LaRosa
Summary: Love’s in season. Wendy’s a girl who knows what she wants. Ten prompts with different pairings, all with one thing in common: her. Written for a challenge, brought to you for your enjoyment. If you don’t like Wendy or the pairings, don't read. Review!
1. Defensive

**Disclaimer**: I don't own South Park, Matt Stone and Trey Parker do.

**Author's Note**: Although I'm not new to this fandom, I'm new to writing fanfiction for it. I've written smaller things, sure, but nothing I thought would be worth posting. There are some crappy stories on here, and there are some gems.

These prompts that I'm doing are for 10(underscore)themes (a LiveJournal community), and are solely based on Wendy and whoever she is with. Mostly, this will be Stan/Wendy since I do adore them, but it won't always be so.

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**01**: Defensive; Stan/Wendy 

**Rating**: M, solely for language.

**Theme**: 01. Bang

_December 30, 2007_

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"Dude, I don't know what to do," he said to his best friend as they tossed around a football at recess. "Should I ask her?" 

Kyle shrugged, "Whatever you want, man. You know what happened before. Do you really want to go through that again?" He knew he made a point. Watching Stan go through various stages of Emo wasn't fun to watch, and when he finally got out of it, he didn't want his best friend to jump right back in all because of _her_.

"I know," Stan said begrudgingly, "but you didn't see the way she went through all that shit just to help us out. Which was totally hot, by the way. Especially when she kicked one of the girls in the crotch. Classic."

"She did that?" Kyle asked, his eyes wide, as he tossed the football back. Shrugging again, he replied, "It's up to you. You're going to be the one who–"

"She's changed," he said, trying to argue for Wendy's sake. "You know it."

"Can you blame me for trying to look out for you?" Kyle asked, giving his friend a look before glancing over to their two other friends who were making their way over to them.

"No," Stan replied, spotting Cartman and Kenny, and deciding the conversation should drop there.

"How goes it, faggots?"

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman," Kyle responded, tossing the ball back, only to be intercepted by Kenny. "Hey!"

"Stan's not even paying attention," Kenny said in defense, gesturing over to the boy in question with a jerk of his thumb. Looking over, Kyle and Cartman could see exactly why their friend wasn't paying attention: Wendy.

"Stop staring at your goddamned hippie girlfriend!"

Those words, that he hadn't heard for a long time, broke Stan out of his daydream and he turned to glare at Cartman, "She's not my girl–"

"Hi, Stan."

His head turned so fast he nearly got whiplash. His stomach churned even faster, resulting in whatever lunch he managed to get down, came right back up. Thankfully, not on her (this time).

"Are you all right?" she asked, her concerned eyes looking into his.

He nodded, then took a deep breath, "Before that happens again–would you go to the dance with me that's Friday night?"

She seemed taken aback by his forwardness, but chalked it up to the fact that he had changed a lot since they had split up. Nodding with a smile, she replied, "I'd love to. But, um, you haven't done_ that_," she gestured to the contents of his stomach on the ground before looking back at him, "in a while. Are you feeling all right?"

"Better than all right," he smiled.

"Get the fuck over here, Marsh, or we're stealing your football!"

He rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Um, so, do you want to just meet at the dance or do you want me to..."

"Meeting here is fine," she replied. "Meet me in front of the doors at eight, okay?" She felt butterflies in her stomach; that was something she hadn't felt for a long time. Did he really do this to her again? She smiled shyly at him. She felt like her heart was banging so loudly in her chest that he could hear it; she hoped he could.

He nodded, then glanced over to his impatient friends. "See you there," he said, grinning at her before heading off in the opposite direction.

"You're happy. My guess is that she said 'yes'?" Kyle asked, a smile on his face.

Stan nodded with a huge grin that was wiped off his face the second he saw Cartman's face. "What? _What_ are you going to say that's going to ruin my good mood?"

"You," he started, breaking into hysterics, "and that hippie bitch," he continued to laugh, "are going back out again?" He nearly fell over with how hard he was laughing, and didn't notice Stan nearing in on him, the look of death on his face.

"Don't call Wendy a bitch, fatass!" he bit out, glaring at Cartman. "I know you don't like her, but just fuck off."

"He probably still does," Kenny muttered to Kyle, who chuckled and nodded in response.

"Whoa," Cartman said, lifting his hands in defense, "no need to PMS on me, man, I'm just saying."

"Well, stop talking, or I'll kick your ass," he said, pulling the football from his grubby little fingers.

"Oh, them are fightin' words, Marsh," he shot back, glaring at Stan. Stan just rolled his eyes. "Are you sure it'll be you that would kick my ass, or would it be the cunt? She does tend to fight the battles for weak animals."

"Asshole, you're just jealous it's not you–" Kyle began, only to be cut off in shock as Stan's fist collided with Cartman's jaw. "–whoa, dude!" Kenny laughed.

As Cartman yelled, Stan growled, and Kyle stood shocked with a grin on his face, Kenny noticed someone else watching their little display. Her wide eyes met Kenny's for a brief second, and she turned with a blush and walked off in a rush. He figured she overheard.

"Dude, you're gettin' some on Friday night," Kenny's muffled speech got the attention of two out of the three boys that were there.

"What?"

"You're going to the dance with Wendy, right?" Kenny asked, waiting expectantly for the answer he knew he was going to hear. He pulled off his hood to scratch his head before slipping it back on. Receiving a silent nod from Stan, he continued, "She just saw what happened. Instant pus–"

"She_ saw_ what happened?" Stan whirled around to see if she was anywhere on the playground anymore, but didn't see a trace of her anywhere. "Are you sure?"

"Eye contact, dude," Kenny said, nodding.

"Shit," he sighed, still ignoring Cartman's wails as he nursed his jaw.

"Why are you upset? You defended her to your best–well, kinda, in Cartman's case–somewhat friend and in front of your best friends. It counts for something, at least a good grope or two."

"Kenny, that's sick–wait, that's a good thing to girls?"

"Groping?"

"No," he huffed, then thought about it. "That was good that she saw that?"

Kenny nodded.

"Then I have a chance after all." He glanced over in the direction where he last saw her, then back to his friends. Friday night would be the night.

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Review and let me know what you think. 

-_**A**_


	2. Forbidden

**Disclaimer**: I don't own South Park, Matt Stone and Trey Parker do.

**Author's Note**: Although I'm not new to this fandom, I'm new to writing fanfiction for it. I've written smaller things, sure, but nothing worth posting. There are some crappy stories on here, and there are some gems. I'm hoping that this will fall under the latter of the two.

These prompts that I'm doing are for 10themes (a LiveJournal community), and are solely based on Wendy and whoever she is with. Mostly, this will be Stan/Wendy since I do adore them, but it won't always be so (like this chapter).

Also, for this one-shot, they're in college at a party, not children.

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**02**: Forbidden; Wendy/Kyle

**Rating**: M, solely for language.

**Theme**: 10. Plead

_July 4, 2008_

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She looked up at him with guarded chocolate eyes, emotions raw in her gaze. She didn't know how she got here, she didn't know how much alcohol was in her system, and she didn't give two shits why–especially now. Her heart clenched in her chest, the need to be with him being so overwhelming to her. It felt wrong, but at the same time she felt like she needed to do this, to live a little more than she had allowed herself to in the past.

His green eyes watched her carefully, albeit a little sluggishly due to the effects of the rum he had not so long ago. He was trying to be the responsible one, the guardian to all of his friends, but he was fed up with that role. He knew this was dangerous territory, like he was walking on the line between life and death, but his conscience–or whatever he had that told him not to mess around with his best friend's girlfriend–was shut down for what he hoped was indefinitely for the evening. His arms slid around her waist, his hands resting lightly on her ass, just as he pictured himself doing so many times in fantasies he had pushed away, seemingly out of his mind–he was wrong, of course.

He would've missed it if he wasn't paying careful attention to her lips. He would've let the opportunity pass him by just as a good friend should.

As she reached up a hand to tangle itself in his auburn hair, she whispered, "Please?"

Without another word, he brought his lips crashing down on hers, years of pent up frustration being let out through that one kiss. Her lips were soft against his, sweeter than he would've imagined; he wondered if it was the watermelon Smirnoff she had drunk that night or the lip gloss she was wearing that made her so sweet. Hell, or maybe even the fact that she tasted like a forbidden fruit made her delicious to him, the type of delicious that he could drown himself in.

Her arms were around his neck instantly, pulling herself closer to him, needing to feel close to someone–anyone. She knew she would regret this in the morning.

They kissed as if they were each other's lifelines. Her hands moved to his chest, each hand with a fistful of his shirt in it; his own hands were planted on her ass, kneading it rhythmically, keeping her firmly against him while they kissed.

Deciding that she needed more alcohol in her system at that exact moment in time, she pulled herself away from Kyle, moving his hands off of her, and turned in the direction of the kitchen, grabbing his hand before he thought she was the type of people who would just make out with a guy and leave him alone.

After pouring them both double shots of whiskey, which would be brutal but would hopefully bring her guilt down a couple notches, she tipped her glass back and emptied the contents, pleased that he had mimicked her actions without complaint. Grabbing the first chaser she spotted, she downed the Coke, then passed Kyle the two-liter with a cough. He seemed to take the shot better than she did, but he didn't draw attention to that fact.

As she tugged him out of the room again, she felt the effects of the alcohol surrounding her, pulling her deeper into the sweet sensation of intoxication.

Deciding that now would be a better time as any, since everyone was immersed in themselves or someone else, she pushed Kyle up against the closest wall and kissed him, immediately pushing her tongue into his mouth and meeting his own.

Despite the need for contact, she still felt like kissing him was wrong. That fucking nagging feeling in the back of her mind wouldn't stop following her around no matter how much alcohol she drank. Her hands had wandered back to their place on his chest, to a safe zone.

No words were spoken as she broke the kiss several minutes later. She looked into his eyes, wondering what had compelled her to do that, do something as disgusting as cheat on her boyfriend, but... what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right?

Why not tell more lies to dig deeper into the grave she started digging for herself? It wasn't as if anything was going to come from this one night, she reasoned.

She dropped one of the hands that were placed on his chest, and used the other, with the fistful of shirt, to tug him in the direction of the bathroom, which she prayed to God was actually empty. She didn't want anyone to see them; that would be horrible, horrible blackmail that she was positive whoever saw would have absolutely no problem using.

He still didn't speak when they entered the dimly lit bathroom. He figured the less words he used the less he would sound like a bumbling idiot, slurring his words or saying something absolutely offensive about her breasts or her ass, which was his new favorite thing to touch. He wouldn't be an ass in front of her; he was determined.

There were a couple broken light bulbs that were out, significantly darkening the room, but she barely noticed and neither did he. The bathroom was a mess, beer cans littering the floor, but the clank of aluminum barely reached their ears. Bringing her back to him, Kyle cupped both sides of Wendy's face, bringing his lips down in a much sweeter, slower kiss. The kiss was so sweet and earnest that it nearly broke her heart. That's when she decided.

She decided... with a great reluctance, as she pulled away from him, that she wouldn't go any farther than this with Kyle. If she fucked him, as a part of her wanted to do, then her relationship that she had worked so hard to maintain for so long, would be over–her hormones needed to remain in check. She was a smart girl who made smart choices, right? Fuck. Stan wouldn't have to know what happened, she could keep it to herself, or maybe not even remember in the morning–she just hoped Kyle could go on the same way they had in the past.

"Kyle," she breathed, her hands reaching up to his hair, which he easily deflected, holding onto her wrists. She frowned, but didn't pull out of his grasp.

"I know, Wendy," he spoke slowly and deliberately, looking away from her.

"Can you promise me..."

"This is just between you and me," he nodded, sadness evident in his stare. Of course she wouldn't want to leave Stan and be with him. Of course he was just the best friend, never the love interest.

"I can't be the girl you want," she sighed, frowning. "I can't be anything more than this to you. Even though you're a great guy, I can't deny that my heart belongs... to... belongs to him."

"It always has," he conceded, nodding. That look never left his eyes, and his small smile didn't reach his eyes. She felt horrible.

"Don't think I was using you for a second. I just don't know what came over me... repeatedly," she tried to resolve the situation, just like she did with any problem. Though... was this really a problem? She was unsure, but she knew the right thing to do, in any case. "I'm so sorry."

As she leaned back, she almost lost her balance; he held onto her just in time, and she thanked him. He figured that she was thanking him for more than just helping her regain balance, but he couldn't bear to ask. He always had felt something for her, something that fluctuated over time, but he had never acted on those feelings until tonight. Of course, alcohol had to play a role, but... he was glad something came of it, even if it was a one-time offer that had run out of time.

"I don't think you were using me. We both needed comfort for shit that's gone wrong in our lives. For what specifically? The fuck I know, but I'm glad it was you, though," he nodded, smiling softly at her.

She smiled, reaching to kiss him on the cheek before glancing at herself in the mirror. Groaning that she looked like hell, she tried to fix her hair before she exited the bathroom–alone, with only a single, sad look back at him as she muttered her goodbye.

He chose to lean on the edge of the sink with his head in his hands. He didn't know if he just felt sick from the alcohol, or the fact that his heart had dropped to the pit of his stomach, all because of his best friend's girlfriend.

They never mentioned it again.


End file.
